


Woke Up Feeling Brand New

by codswallop



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Cunnilingus, Double Penetration, Genderfuck, Medical Kink, Other, Sex with Vegetables, Sexswap, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:19:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codswallop/pseuds/codswallop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock wakes up one morning with an exciting new feature, and proceeds to experiment on everyone and everything within reach. Spinoff crack based on PrettyArbitrary's <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/284820">Shame Is Overrated</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Shame is Overrated](https://archiveofourown.org/works/284820) by [PrettyArbitrary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyArbitrary/pseuds/PrettyArbitrary). 



> Thanks very much to PrettyArbitrary, obviously, for letting me play in this gloriously crack-filled playground!

“John.”

“Sleeping.”

“ _John._ It’s urgent.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m not leaving you alone until you see this, John.”

“Fuck. _Off_. We’ve talked about this, Sherlock. Never before six in the morning unless it's an actual medical emergency."

“Fine. Give me your hand.”

Sleep-drugged and cross, it took John a full minute to realise what Sherlock was pressing his fingers against.

Or rather, what he _wasn’t_ pressing them against.

John sat up in bed. “Bloody hell! You, too?”

“It appears we weren’t as careful as we should have been,” Sherlock said, but he was definitely smirking.

“You did this on purpose,” John accused.

“I assure you I didn't. I admit I was curious, however. It’s quite a disconcerting feeling, isn’t it? All that _space_ in my pyjamas when I awoke. What are you doing? You’re not going back to sleep now!”

“No?” John tucked both hands firmly under his head and turned away. “Watch me.”

“But I have a severe disfiguring genital infection! You need to examine me!”

“Book an appointment at the surgery,” John said. “I’m not on the clock until nine. Seriously, Sherlock. _Go away._ ”

Sherlock lay down on the bed next to him. “So empty-feeling,” he mused. John could hear the rustle of fabric on fabric, clothing being rearranged, skin against-- “And damp,” Sherlock added, after a moment. “Over half the population walks around like this all the time, can you imagine? Oh. That’s right; you don’t have to imagine.” There were more sounds. Sherlock caught his breath.

“Oh, for-- Sherlock! All right. You win. Go down to your room and take everything off below the waist. And put the kettle on when you go through the kitchen; you’re making the tea today. But wash your hands first!”

“Yes, Doctor,” Sherlock said, with another infuriating smirk in his voice as he swanned out of the room.

*

“I can’t even do this properly,” John grumbled, stretching on a pair of gloves. “It’s not as though I keep a speculum around the flat, you know. All right, feet up, soles together. I still don’t believe you didn’t do this on purpose somehow.” John lifted up the sheet Sherlock had draped over himself with uncharacteristic modesty. “That’s...wow. Yep. You did the job thoroughly, looks like.”

Sherlock was oddly silent.

“Knees wide open for me,” John prompted, pushing the sheet up to expose him fully. Funny how his brain still wanted to say “him” even in the face of the evidence. “Right, that’s good, very nice, very healthy-looking. Let’s just have a feel now.” He palpated the mons pubis and labia majora thoroughly until Sherlock began to squirm beneath his hands.

“John--”

“Any pain, tenderness?”

“No, but--”

“Good.” John was beginning to enjoy this, he found. He squirted gel onto his gloved fingers and rubbed them against the inner lips, then pushed one finger carefully inside, and Sherlock jerked and whimpered. “Hold still and relax,” John told him, feeling around in widening circles. “Nice firm tissue here. Beautiful.” He slipped a second finger in while his free hand pressed down gently on Sherlock’s lower belly. And then less gently. “How’s that feel?” he asked, glancing up.

Sherlock was making an awful face. “Completely bizarre,” he said finally. “And...not really very pleasant. You actually do this to women as a matter of procedure? You’re not having me on as payback?”

“It’s an examination, Sherlock,” John said absently, probing deeper and pressing harder. “It’s not supposed to be pleasant. Be glad you get to miss the part where I stick a piece of cold metal inside you and ratchet it open as far as it’ll go.”

Sherlock winced, and John took pity on him and withdrew his fingers. “All finished?” Sherlock asked, closing his knees quickly.

John pushed them open again. “Don’t you want to find out whether you’ve got a fully functioning clitoris, too?” He spread the lips of the vulva apart and dabbed his fingers against it, and Sherlock gasped again and went tense. “This won’t hurt,” John assured him, giving a light pinch to the little nub, feeling it begin to swell. “And it’s not _at all_ part of a standard pelvic exam, just so you know.”

“Oh!” Sherlock said, his eyes flaring wide open as John settled into a gentle, rhythmic rubbing.

“That’s it,” John encouraged him, and, after another minute, “Almost there?”

“Yes! John--oh--touch me inside again?” Sherlock’s hips were beginning to buck uncontrollably now, and when John pressed his right index finger deeply into the vagina again he felt it clamp down on him in a series of fluttering constrictions as Sherlock broke into waves of rigid shudders and gasps. “Oh, oh god, John, I’m, that’s--no, take it out, take it out _now_ , too much, too much!”

John pulled his finger out and moved away, waiting until Sherlock had quit spasming before putting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. Wow. All right?”

“Yes.” Sherlock’s eyes were still tightly shut, his chest heaving raggedly, but he moved his hand to rest limply on top of John’s. “That was...” He seemed lost for words.

“Intense, yeah, I know,” John said. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be stupid, John.” Sherlock sat up swiftly. “How long before I can do it again?”

*

Later, over breakfast:

“So. You don’t mind if I phone Lestrade today, do you?”

John frowned. “You phone Lestrade all the time. Why would I... Oh. _Oh._ You mean for...”

“Yes. For.”

John frowned some more.

“I see,” said Sherlock. “All right, well--”

“No, no no no, I didn’t...yes, I mean, if you want to, of course.” John would admit to a twinge of jealousy, although he wasn’t entirely certain which direction it was coming from, but it wouldn’t be fair to deprive Sherlock of an experience like that, would it? “If _he_ wants to, I should say.”

“Of course he wants to,” Sherlock said, arrogant as ever. “Who wouldn’t want to?”

John made a strangled sound into his tea mug. “Yeah. After years of nothing but put-downs and scorn from you at every turn? Who wouldn’t want to...render you helpless and desperate and unable to speak except to beg? Actually, you know what, you’re right. I can’t imagine.”

“Surely you exaggerate, John. I’ve known Lestrade for years. I’m willing to believe he’s highly competent at performing oral sex on women, but he’s not some sort of...” Sherlock waved his toast in the air descriptively in lieu of the right words.

“Silver-tongued cunnilingus god?” John suggested.

Sherlock gave a derisive laugh.

“You’ll see,” John said smugly, and got up to clear his plate. “If you’re lucky.”

*

“This is getting a bit weird,” Lestrade said uneasily when Sherlock phoned him. “That one time with John was one thing, but I’m not sure how I feel about being called on to service anyone who--”

“‘Anyone’? Lestrade. It’s _me_. I thought we were friends.”

“You didn’t. You always say--”

“Yes, yes, I say a lot of things. Are you telling me you’ve never wondered what I’d be like as a sex partner?”

Lestrade was silent at the other end of the line. “Well...” he said doubtfully.

“John called his experience with you _transcendent_ ,” Sherlock said, trying to swing the balance. “He seemed to think you have some sort of preternatural skill. Ridiculous, obviously, but just the same--”

“John said that?” Lestrade sounded pleased despite himself. “I should really ask him down the pub some night. Not, you know, for-- Just, he’s a really decent bloke, you know?”

“Mm,” said Sherlock. “He is terribly prone to exaggeration, though.”

“I see what you’re trying to do, Sherlock. I’m not stupid. All right. My place, six o’clock, on two conditions: One, don’t talk more than absolutely necessary during this entire experience, and two, I don’t ever want to find out that this has been on anyone’s blog. Oh, and shower before you come over. Also, this is a one-time deal, yeah? It’s not going to become a Thing.”

“That’s four conditions,” Sherlock said. “I’ll see you at six. Don’t expect flowers.”

*

“All the flowers,” Sherlock moaned. “Oh god. Lestrade, what kind of flowers do you like? I’m having every one of them in London sent to you. Every last--oh, fuck, _fuck_ , please do that again, don’t stop!”

“Talking,” Lestrade reminded him, coming up for air with his hair sticking up every which way in damp spikes. “And keep it down a bit, will you? I do have neighbours, you know.”

“Can’t help it.” Sherlock wrapped his insanely long legs more tightly around Lestrade’s shoulders and tried to pull him back down. “You’re driving me mad. Need to come again. _Please._ ”

“Say that again?”

“Please, Lestrade!” Sherlock’s eyes had gone unfocused, his voice hoarse.

“I should be taking video of this,” Lestrade murmured, and bent down to open Sherlock again, teasing at him with a wickedly pointed tongue. Sherlock gave a muffled cry and tried to thrust upward with his hips to get more contact, but Lestrade pinned him easily to the mattress with one warm splayed hand and continued to torture him with light flickers alternating with much-too-brief stabs deeper inside. He waited until just the right moment--how did he know? how?--before finally fastening his lips around Sherlock’s clit and sucking gently as he thrust into him with two twisting fingers, and Sherlock cried out and convulsed beneath him for the third time that evening.

Lestrade emerged, chin dripping. “You don’t half gush when you come,” he observed, panting. “Christ.”

“I-Is that unusual?” Sherlock could barely speak, but he still sounded fascinated.

“A bit. I like it, actually.” Lestrade leaned over to lap at him again, and Sherlock squealed, no other word for it, and tried to writhe away.

“No more,” he begged. “I’ll go into cardiac arrest. You can’t...how do you _do_ that?”

Lestrade shrugged and grinned.

“ _Would_ you video it, in fact?” Sherlock raised up on his elbows, a glimmer of shrewdness sparking in his eyes again.

“Not a chance.” Lestrade unwound himself from Sherlock’s legs, peeled himself up off the bed, and went to get himself a glass of water, working his jaw and rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Irises,” Sherlock said, watching him, and fell back bonelessly onto the pillows. “Blue.” He reached for his mobile after a minute and sent several texts, including one to John:

 _I stand corrected.  
Liquid silver with titanium core.  
SH_

Alone in 221B, John laughed out loud when he got the message, then sighed. He thought about it for a few minutes, then snapped off the television and headed upstairs. An early night to bed suddenly seemed like a fantastic idea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock experiments with anything that crosses his path, including vegetables. And Molly.

Sherlock spent a lot of the next few days shut up in his room with a hand mirror, a magnifying glass, and a pocket torch. John tried not to take it personally--he’d been given a few extra shifts at the surgery this week, so it wasn’t as if he was terribly available anyhow, but he was home _some_ of the time.

He texted Sherlock from his bedroom.

 _10:31pm  
I am here, you know. Early night for you?  
JW_

 _11:27 pm  
What are you doing in there?  
JW_

 _11:28 pm  
Experimenting. Go to sleep.  
SH_

 _11:45 pm  
I’m fairly certain I bought a bag of carrots and a cucumber when I did shopping last week.  
JW_

 _11:47 pm  
You did. I used them.  
SH_

 _11:48 pm  
Do I want to know how they were used??  
JW_

 _11:51 pm  
Sherlock?  
JW_

John heard angry bare feet on the stairs a less than a minute later, and Sherlock banged his bedroom door open.

“What do you want, John?” Sherlock lingered in the doorway wearing his blue silk dressing gown--just barely. The belt was only tied in a cursory knot, revealing acres of flushed, damp skin. His hair was a tangled nest and he somehow managed to look both furious and slightly dazed at the same time--he looked, in fact, exactly like someone who’d been shut up in his bedroom, wanking himself into delirium for three days straight.

“I want salad with my dinner,” John said crossly. “You know, they do make toys expressly for that purpose. You might have...Sherlock, are you, did...did you _shave_?”

Sherlock belted his dressing gown more tightly. “Not my most successful experiment,” he said. “The itching is intolerable. What do you recommend?”

“Professional help!” John shouted, and got up to slam the door in his face.

He got a text at work the next morning.

 _10:15 am  
Shopping list: veg, razors, toys (?)  
Anti-itch remedy  
Lubricant  
Bread (for toast)  
SH_

 _11:45 am  
Get it yourself, genius.   
Going to Sarah’s for dinner tonight. May spend the night.  
JW_

 _1:23 pm  
Jealousy is most unbecoming on you, John.  
SH_

*

The doorbell at 221B rang that afternoon just as Sherlock was exploring a new angle of penetration. The carrots had been entirely unsatisfactory and the cucumber was now rather wilted, but the pocket torch was turning out to be useful in more ways than one. He ignored the bell until it had rung six or seven times.

“Not available at this time!” he called out as he bolted down the stairs and flung open the door, all impatience and perspiration. “Mr. Holmes is on holiday. Come back in two or three--oh, hello, Molly.”

“You’re on holiday?” Molly asked, deer-eyed.

“No. I’m...ill.”

“Oh?” Molly tried on a trembling smile. “I see. I mean, that’s unfortunate. So am I, actually.” She laughed. “Or, not exactly--but that’s why, you see--is John here, by any chance?”

“No,” Sherlock said, giving her a suspicious side-eyed scowl. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Will he be back anytime soon? I’d rather hoped to...he’s so nice, you know, and...and discreet, not that there’s anything...I’m told it’s quite common recently, you can pick it up just about anywhere, but even so--”

“Ah.” Sherlock raised his chin and favoured her with a one-sided smirk. “Light dawns. What a fascinating turn of events. Come in, Molly.”

“Oh. Well, all right. So he will be home soon, you expect?”

“Doubtful,” Sherlock said, and headed back up the stairs to his flat. “But come in anyway. I may be able to assist you myself.”

“I don’t think so, really,” Molly said with a nervous laugh, but after a minute of hesitation she followed him upstairs, treading very gingerly.

*

It was ill-advised on both their parts, probably, but the influx of unfamiliar hormones had left them both a little crazed, and neither of them took much convincing. Sherlock flashed her a bit, Sharon-Stone-style, after showing her to a seat and handing her a cup of doubtful-smelling tea, and Molly inhaled sharply and perked up like a pointer.

“Yes. So. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?” Sherlock suggested. “Just this once, no strings attached, once in a lifetime opportunity?”

“Oh,” Molly breathed. “I...yes, _please,_ I’d...like that very much. Actually. Yes.”

*

“Fascinating,” Sherlock said for about the sixth or seventh time, on his knees, lifting her skirt higher so he could examine her from every angle. “How did it appear, did you notice? All at once, or could you feel it growing?”

“It was, well, just a bit of a bulgy place at first,” Molly said, opening the buttons on her blouse with trembling fingers that betrayed either eagerness or embarrassment--probably both, Sherlock reflected. “It gave me quite a turn when I first got up this morning. Then I touched it, and it...swelled out, you know--”

“Hm.” Sherlock divested her of the skirt and got to his feet. “Let’s see, shall we?” He quickly and expertly unlatched her bra and cast it aside, then rubbed his hands together briskly and cupped her breasts, touching his thumbs to her nipples.

Molly bit her lip and went very still, her eyes on the ceiling, and Sherlock glanced down. “There. Yes. You’ll notice that eventually, with sufficient stimulation, you may-- Oh. That’s...quite full-sized, actually. Has it been in that state before? Have you--”

“Yes, your turn now, I think,” Molly said brightly and only a bit waveringly, and darted her fingers inside his dressing gown to do her own investigating. They found their mark instantly, and Sherlock watched, taken aback, as her eyes went cold and professional. “You’ve shaved yourself very badly,” she murmured. “And you’re...goodness, you are _dripping_ wet. Eager girl, aren’t you?” She met Sherlock’s eyes and turned flustered again, then laughed self-consciously. “Sorry.”

“Molly,” Sherlock said, pushing his hips forward into her touch and closing his eyes for a moment. “How...how did you happen to contract this infection, anyhow?”

“You’ve got condoms, haven’t you?” Molly asked, ignoring him, her fingers delving busily. “I assumed. I shouldn’t have assumed. _This_ will be a new experience.”

Sherlock felt his knees begin to go wobbly. He hadn’t eaten much in the past few days, he remembered suddenly. That would account for it. “This...which part of the experience, do you mean? Have you done this before?”

“Oh, no, not with my own,” Molly assured him. “Only with a strap-on. The condom will be new, I meant. I can’t say they look very comfortable. Not that I’m suggesting we go without!”

Sherlock’s mind was stuck at “strap-on.” He backed away, fumbling for the bedside table drawer, and Molly’s fingers slid free of him with a slick sound.

“Haven’t _you_ done this before?” she asked, looking shocked.

Sherlock wasn’t about to say _only with vegetables_. He drew himself up tall. “Not with this particular configuration of genitalia, no. But--”

Molly’s small mouth twitched. “No, well, don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll be gentle with you.”

*

John, returning from Sarah’s the next afternoon, was pleasantly surprised to find the flat in reasonable order and Sherlock, showered and dressed, tapping busily away at the laptop.

“I’ve brought home aubergines,” John said, straight-faced. “Got you an extra, even.”

Sherlock waved an impatient hand at him. “No time. New case.”

“Oh, really? Huh. You look...satiated.”

Sherlock scowled at the screen.

“Lestrade again?” John asked after another minute or two, trying to sound as though he didn’t care either way.

Sherlock shook his head. “Molly.”

“Molly, right. Wait, _Molly_ Molly?”

“John,” Sherlock said, slamming his laptop shut and swivelling round in his chair. “Occasionally, human beings manage to surprise even me, and that is all I wish to say on the subject at present. Are you with me? I’m off to the Yard.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finally gets his turn.

Sherlock with a vagina on a case, it turned out, was...exactly like Sherlock without a vagina on a case. For the sixteen days it took to solve the Case of the Copper’s Breeches (as John would later title it on his blog), it was as if sex had never been invented. Along with eating. And sleeping. And most forms of customary human hygiene. 

It was an excellent case, one of the better ones they’d had lately, but throughout it all there was a part of John’s mind that was anxiously wondering how long it would take to solve and what sort of post-case sex they’d be having when it was finally through. He liked Sherlock’s cock, very much in fact--he liked it pressed hard and throbbing against his stomach, liked the silky heat of it in his hand, the taste of it on his tongue, the firm insistent weight of it between his cheeks as the wet tip slid inside--all right, actually, he missed Sherlock’s cock a _great deal_ , come to think of it. 

Even so, he was curious to try out Sherlock 2.0 down there, too. It hardly seemed fair that Molly and Lestrade and half the contents of the vegetable drawer had got to have a thorough go while John had only had a clinical poke and prod at the new equipment. 

He needn’t have worried. When it was all over and they were finally back at home again, Sherlock headed straight for the bath while John made tea and then dozed off on the sofa. He woke to the sight of Sherlock scarfing down the last of the chocolate biscuits, standing at the table wearing nothing but a towel and some clinging drops of water. John tried not to crane his neck too obviously to get a good look at the front of the towel, which hung in frustratingly thick folds around Sherlock’s slim waist.

“Did you leave me _any_ hot water?” John asked him.

“No,” Sherlock said, emptying the sugar bowl into his mug. “But the bath water’s nearly fresh. And might be warm if you hurry. Whatever are you staring at like an imbecile? Oh. No, it still hasn’t grown back yet.” He whipped off the towel and let it fall to the floor; the fuzz of fresh new hair did little to obscure the evidence. “Disappointed?”

“I, I, I... _no!_ Disappointed, I, no.” John blinked several times and cleared his throat. “Not the word I’d use. I’m...I don’t suppose you’d be interested in--or, you’re probably exhausted, aren’t you, but--”

“Go get cleaned up first,” Sherlock said, and John nearly tripped over the rug in his haste to get out of the room.

*

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to,” Sherlock murmured sleepily, as John slid into the bed next to him ten minutes later, naked and damp-haired. 

“ _Want_ to,” John echoed, running his hands down Sherlock’s body. “Jesus. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past two weeks.” He hesitated at Sherlock’s stomach, then pushed his hand down lower, cupping the soft warm space between his legs and then rubbing softly at the closed lips. “Why wouldn’t I want to?”

“You like me with the typical male parts,” Sherlock said, arching against him. “I have a great deal of evidence to support the fact.”

“I like you with any parts, you prat. You liked me both ways, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but--” Sherlock gasped and quit arguing abruptly as John applied a bit more pressure and slipped two fingers into the folds of his sex, exploring gently up and down the inner labia. Sherlock was already aroused, slick and wet inside, and John pulled his fingers out after a moment and sucked them while Sherlock squirmed.

“I’ve been wanting to taste you like this,” John said. He wanted to do a hell of a lot more than that, actually; he’d already been half-erect when he’d got into bed and now he was so hard it was nearly painful, but Sherlock was the one with zero refractory period and he wanted to draw this experience out as long as possible. “Sherlock, can I...?”

“Oh, Christ, get down there, get your tongue in me,” Sherlock moaned, pressing on John’s shoulders, and John grinned delightedly.

*

They spent most of the next few days in bed. And in the shower. And up against the kitchen cabinets. Basically their usual post-case sex-starved routine. It wasn’t really even that different, once they got used to it--John loved the feel of Sherlock sinking down onto him and engulfing him wholly, loved holding his hips steady while Sherlock rode him, loved watching Sherlock’s face crumple and hearing his urgent cries as he came apart with John inside him, but then he always had. It was a slightly new sensation, physically speaking, but more different for Sherlock than John.

“I just want to be full of you all the time,” Sherlock said, dazed and wild-haired on the fourth day, when he’d fallen back fretfully against the pillows after John had pleaded for a rest. “It’s most inconvenient. It _aches_. You went through this, not too long ago; when does it _stop_?” 

“It’s partly the hormones,” John assured him. “And partly you’re just thinking about it too much because you don’t have a case or anything to distract you. I mean...actually, no. Scratch that. It’s because I’m such a fantastic lover. I’m sorry. I’ll try to dial it down.”

Sherlock whacked him with one of the pillows and got up to rummage around in the kitchen again. For food, John hoped, and not for replacement phallii, although he was so shattered at the moment that he didn’t really care.

“Actually,” Sherlock said through a mouthful of bread, flopping down on the bed again a few minutes later and waking him up. “There is something else I was wondering if we could try.”

He sounded so hesitant that John opened his eyes again, frowning. Sherlock was utterly shameless, he’d proved it a hundred times over in the past month alone. What could possibly be so depraved that it would make a man like Sherlock blush? “It’s nothing illegal, is it?” John asked nervously. 

“No, no.”

“It doesn’t involve anything you found at the morgue?”

“No! Although,” Sherlock added thoughtfully as an aside, and then shook his head decisively. “No. Nothing like that. It does involve...outside cooperation, however.”

John thought about it. Sherlock watched him.

“You think he would?” Sherlock asked.

John was remembering the sea of blue irises in Lestrade’s office at Scotland Yard the last time they’d seen the inspector, and the shy grin he’d had whenever he’d forgot to look cross at Sherlock.

“I’d say you’re wearing your bad idea pants, but I think that’s the only kind you own,” John said finally. “Not that I’ve seen you wearing any pants at all for some time now. Sure, ask him, why not? Our lives can only get more absurd around here.”

Sherlock was up again and searching for his mobile at the word “sure,” and John decided to fall asleep to escape the secondhand embarrassment of hearing Sherlock’s side of the phone call. Anyway, no matter what the outcome, he’d almost certainly be needing all the rest he could get.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wants to try double penetration. Lestrade is obliging.

“There is absolutely nothing I could say that would make this situation any less awkward, so I’m not even going to try,” John told Lestrade.

“Yeah, cheers,” Lestrade said nervously, leaning in the doorway to John’s room. “I’m a bit...yeah.”

“Yes, spare us all the imbecilic small talk and let’s get down to business.” Sherlock brushed past Lestrade into the room, discarded his dressing gown, threw himself onto the bed next to John, and pointed imperiously at the space on the other side. “Now. Lestrade. What sort of equipment are we working with here? Let’s have a look. I’ve got several possible positions worked out for starters, but I’ll need to get rough estimates of your fully erect length and circumference before we begin.”

“We could tape his mouth shut,” John suggested.

“Oh, well, that’d be a shame,” Lestrade said, and leaned down to cup Sherlock’s chin between his two hands, tilting Sherlock’s face up and stopping the flow of words with his mouth. When he pulled back again, Sherlock looked discombobulated.

“You haven’t done _that_ before,” he stated.

“Wanted to,” Lestrade said, shedding his jacket and shoes, then glanced over at John again. “Sorry. You two...I don’t know what your rules are, are there rules? I’ve never--”

“It’s all trial and error around here,” John assured him. “Kiss him again.” It was more than a suggestion, and Lestrade gave him a swift surprised look before complying. John pushed his hand up into Sherlock’s hair this time while Lestrade kissed him, cradling his skull, and Sherlock sighed and leaned back into John’s touch, letting John take his weight while he busied his fingers with Lestrade’s belt.

“Formidable size,” Sherlock murmured a few moments later. “Just as I suspected. I think I’d prefer John to penetrate me anally, if you don’t mind, and you can-- What? What?” he demanded, when Lestrade pulled away wincing and John covered his own eyes with his hand. “Proper communication is essential in this sort of situation! You’ve said it yourself countless--”

“Tape?” John said, making eye contact with Lestrade again. 

“I like my way of shutting him up better,” Lestrade said. “Hold him.” He pushed Sherlock back to recline against John’s chest and then slid down to press his mouth between Sherlock’s legs. 

John couldn’t see exactly what Lestrade was doing down there, but he could hear the liquid sounds of it and feel Sherlock’s gasps and shudders, and the sense memories were intense: warm soft lips spreading him open, the slithery heat of a tongue-touch inside... Christ. He’d been worried that he wouldn’t be able to get hard with Lestrade in the bed, that it would all be too weird and embarrassing, but that apparently wasn’t going to be a problem at all.

“Not feeling left out, are you?” Lestrade asked him, looking up from what he was doing a minute or two later. From the sounds of it, and from Sherlock’s continuing little moans, he’d replaced his tongue with his fingers.

“I’m feeling like I might come in my pants in another thirty seconds,” John said shakily, easing out from under Sherlock so he could strip them off along with his t-shirt. “Prep his arse while you’re down there, will you?” He tossed Lestrade the lube. 

“Oh god,” said Sherlock, gripping the mattress. 

“You want to call it off?” John said, concerned, and Lestrade moved back instantly. 

_”No,”_ Sherlock said vehemently. “Oh god. Get your hands back on me, Lestrade, preferably right this minute, and John, hurry up whatever you’re doing so you can hold me down again. I’ll explode if I don’t have one of you inside me soon.”

“Doesn’t sound very plausible, from a scientific standpoint,” Lestrade said, slicking up two fingers much more slowly than necessary. “I might like to see that.”

“We should have got Molly instead,” Sherlock complained, and then arched back, his head hitting the headboard as Lestrade began to touch him again. 

“Has he got a prostate still, too, then?” Lestrade asked John presently through Sherlock’s moans. “Lucky bastard. No wonder he wanted to give this a go.”

Sherlock swatted ineffectively at him. “You needn’t talk about me as if I’m--oh, oh, oh, do that again, _again_ , the fingers and the tongue thing both at once, _yes!_ \--oh, please--"

Ten minutes later, John was kneeling up behind Sherlock, finally, _finally_ breaching his arse with the tip of his cock while Lestrade fingered him from the front. 

“Ah,” Sherlock said as John pushed in another inch.

“Hurts?” John said, stopping.

“No, I’m coming,” Sherlock gasped, shuddering, and squeezed down hard all around him. “John. _Yes._ Ah!”

“Easy,” Lestrade murmured, still rubbing Sherlock gently through it, but he was looking at John. “All right?”

“Ngh,” was about all John could manage. He tried to focus on the total ridiculousness of the situation as an antidote to overstimulation. Imagining the look on Anderson’s face if he’d walked into the room just then was moderately helpful. 

Sherlock tensed and relaxed and tensed, then finally went pliant between them again. “Keep up,” he said sharply at last, only a little breathless. “Are we doing this or not?”

“ _Fuck yes_ we're doing this,” John said, and leaned back carefully, guiding Sherlock along with him, until he was sitting with his back braced against the headboard and Sherlock was sitting in his lap, John’s cock buried deeply inside his arse. “Lestrade,” John said, keeping his eyes closed. “If you want to join us, I suggest you do it soon.”

Sherlock was a shivering mess between them when Lestrade pressed into him at last, but he could still hiss _yes yes yes yes yes fuck yes_ , which was a good thing because otherwise they might have thought he was in extreme pain. John could feel every slick inch of Lestrade’s cock rub against him inside Sherlock’s body. He clamped his jaw shut and gripped Sherlock’s hips more tightly, hanging on for dear life.

“Good?” Lestrade said, breathing hard. “Okay if I move?”

“If you don’t, I will shoot you,” Sherlock said tightly.

“I’m asking John.”

“Oh, by all means, because I’m only the one who’s actually being double-penetrated here!”

“Move, yes, good,” John said quickly, because an argument at the current moment was clearly going to be disastrous. “Go slow, though, or I’ll--ah--” Every tiny little shift was an explosion of sensation, delicious friction in the tight wet heat. Sherlock rotated his hips in a slow, deliberate grind, and John broke out in a sweat; Lestrade groaned. 

“Fascinating,” Sherlock gasped out. “Much more stimulating than I--yes, a bit more, Lestrade. _There._ ” He began to rock back and forth, slowly at first, then frantically. “Oh, I'm going to come again--”

“Stop talking,” John ordered, and put his fingers in Sherlock's mouth; Sherlock sucked on them, hard, and whimpered while John pushed up deeper inside him. John could feel him beginning to contract in rhythm around the twin intrusions filling his body, and knew it was going to send him over the edge, too. He reached out blindly and found himself gripping the back of Lestrade's damp neck, making obscene noises that he couldn't keep back as Sherlock flooded them both with slippery wetness that made everything move faster. John felt himself begin to pulse, and he couldn’t tell for sure but he thought Lestrade was already there, too.

“It’s too intense,” Sherlock said desperately, quaking. “Can you--oh, God, pull out, please--no, wait, not yet, I’m still--” 

“All right, shhh,” Lestrade said, the only one of them who was still in some semblance of control. He took hold of himself and John and eased them both out, keeping a careful grip on the bases of the condoms, and somehow managed to stroke John through the last throes of his orgasm and kiss Sherlock into submission again at the same time. 

*

Lestrade didn’t stick around. He was dressed before John had recovered the use of his legs or thought to offer him so much as a cup of tea, and took off after one last fondly exasperated look at Sherlock, who was collapsed in a dramatic sort of way face-down across John’s stomach. “Sorry,” John said, when he saw that Lestrade was about to go. “I can’t really...”

“No, don’t,” Lestrade said quickly. “Anyway. That was a bit of fun. We can use it against him for ages, I expect. See you round, then.” He flashed John another one of those shy, devastating grins and vanished out the door.

“God, he’s like a secret sex superhero,” John said.

“Told you he was the best of a bad lot,” Sherlock mumbled into his skin. “Water. I need water.” He rolled off John and flopped back down, looking damp and disheveled and just pathetic enough that John got up to fetch him a glass without complaint. Sherlock drained it down in one go.

“So?” John prompted. “Did it live up to your expectations? Was it worth the horrific awkwardness of having to face Lestrade at crime scenes from now on, knowing that he’s seen...well, everything and then some?”

“It was a bit overwhelming,” Sherlock said, looking thoughtful. John watched the sharpness returning to his eyes, though he still seemed muted overall. “Also, there were too many knees in one bed for comfort. I think I prefer it if it’s just us.”

“Mm,” John said noncommittally, trying not to smile. 

Sherlock was silent for the next two minutes, and John assumed he’d fallen asleep when he went on, “I _would_ like to experiment with different angles and positions for double penetration, however; possibly a large vibrator would do. If we can devise a--oh. Hang on.”

John sat up as Sherlock’s eyes went huge and alarmed. “What?” He lifted the sheet and looked down at him. “Oh.”

“That feels _indescribably odd,_ ” Sherlock said, making a screwed-up face. 

“I was asleep when mine came back,” John said. “That’s...wow. Nice timing, I suppose.”

Sherlock looked dismayed. 

“I’m sure you’ll find other ways to experiment,” John assured him. 

Sherlock touched himself doubtfully. “It feels odd. I’m sure it never felt this way before. Can we try it out now, see if it still works the same way as it used to?”

“Absolutely not,” John, and took Sherlock’s hands in his own as he settled in for a sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> A coda to this fic can be found here: [The Summons](http://archiveofourown.org/works/533116)
> 
> ...featuring Mycroft/Lestrade.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [It's too much!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/331498) by [basaltgrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/basaltgrrl/pseuds/basaltgrrl)
  * ["Okay if I move?"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/342487) by [basaltgrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/basaltgrrl/pseuds/basaltgrrl)




End file.
